Right from the start, says the librarian, the runeknights desired immortality. They wished for more time to perfect their crafts. The Runeforger had taken the first step onto this path by creating an amulet of unaging soon after he first developed the runes. It was the power of this craft, more than any other, that persuaded the dwarves to submit to his rule—all the ancient accounts more or less agree on this.

Very ancient accounts indeed—most date back to at least five aeon-hours ago. The equivalent of about fifty thousand years. Allabrast was just one great cavern city among many, then.

But after this effective immortality was achieved, some runeknights began to ask: what else could be possible with this new magic? Immortality is not invincibility, and neither is it physical or mental strength. Could rings, amulets, bracelets and other kinds of jewelry be enruned to enhance flesh in other ways? And perhaps the crafts didn't even have to be jewelry.

All kinds of things were created. Needles and nails, daggers to be stabbed through flesh to lie alongside bone, even wires to be woven through vein and into the heart.

The experimenters perished. Their crafts were locked away, though out of respect for the ingenuity of their makers, usually not destroyed.

"The crown in the box—that was one such craft, wasn't it?" I ask, feeling slightly dizzy. "Something to alter flesh. The part of my tale you said I brushed over—you meant my dealings with the trolls. Our quest for the hammer."

"I believe what you found was such a craft, yes."

"I thought it was a Runeking's crown. They affect flesh too, do they not? Runeking Ulrike's changes his sight. And in Vanerak's realm, we wore masks to change our senses, too."

"The taboo is fading. But you know where it leads. Fjalar, with his amulet of blood—his craft was most akin to theirs. It was very clever of him to figure out their methods."

"You imply they sacrificed others?"

"Yes. The sources are fairly conclusive on that front. These dwarves' relationship to the Runeforger, however, is less certain. Some say he encouraged their work. Others say he—or the plural—was committed to keeping metal and flesh separate. After his death, though, there did seem to be a renewed interest in the techniques."

"Yet in the end, they failed," I say. "They couldn't become Gods. Others did, with some unknown method. Is that correct?"

"That would be my guess. No one knows for sure."

"And the Runegods themselves won't tell anyone, I presume."

"They do not intervene."

"Why not?" I feel a sudden flash of anger. "We are besieged on all sides, by our fellows, and by trolls and dragons and worse. If these so-called Gods are so powerful, why not help us?"

"That is a question that bothers many—most especially Runethanes, who carry so many lives upon their shoulders. I've been asked this before, by several of you."

"There have been many times that I wished one would step in. The trolls are becoming a problem, Grand Librarian. Though I'm sure you've heard this from others, it bears repeating. They are using runes scratched into their hides. And they are getting better at using them."

"I have heard. This Dwatrall you talked of—I think I know where he is. A valley to the north, on the surface—"

I cut in. "He is honorable, and my friend. He's not behind this."

"Perhaps not. But one can change over the course of many long-hours. I've read many a biography, Zathar."

"We will see." I do not like this topic of conversation, even though the Grand Librarian seems more curious than critical about how I taught a troll runes. "But you were speaking of the Runegods. Why won't they help us?"

"If you saw one group of insects clawing and biting at another, would you care?"

"But they are dwarves, too!"

"Not anymore. That ship you saw, once—perhaps that was Runegod. Not many who see live to tell, but those who have speak of odd shapes and devices of metal. Are they suits of armor, automated carriages—or something else?"

"The Runeking must know. It's no secret that he wishes to ascend, and soon."

"Yes. He would be the first since the second ruler of Allabrast, should he succeed."

"The others were all killed?"

"Indeed. You did not know?"

"I didn't even know how many rulers there have been. I thought Runeking Ulrike was only the second."

"Well, that does not surprise me." He shakes his head sadly. "Most care about the past only so far as its mysteries can affect their own crafts. The locations of such and such lost city—old forging techniques—abandoned mines. And so much is gone, anyway. Eroded. Or else it's down here, locked away."

"You could copy some of them out. Make them more available."

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"We have. We have written our own books, compiled many volumes of history. But most don't bother reading." He shrugs. "What does it matter who ruled Allabrast, or this realm or that realm, aeon-hours ago? Will such knowledge gain you money? Power? Fame? No. History is a thankless job."

"You persist in doing it, though."

"If not me and my guild, who else? This knowledge should not be forgotten. There are lessons in the past that we ought to remember. I spoke of how devices to alter the flesh are dangerous, yes? But now we're forgetting that. Using healing chains, to who knows what ill effects."

"Ill effects? I've never noticed any."

"You might in future, as you age. Or if you decide to have children." He looks at my breastplate, meaningfully, almost as if he's seeing right through it. "Runes that affect flesh can be beyond ruinous. Perhaps you know this already. You hinted at the creation of an amulet, didn't you?"

"Yes." I didn't tell him much of it, though. How has he guessed?

He seems to read the question in my mind, and answers it: "It throbs with power. Great power, though subtle—most wouldn't be able to tell."

I frown. "No one can tell."

"They likely confuse its power with something in your armor. But I can see the difference."

"The dwarves of the sandstone lands use similar crafts just fine, though." I feel irritated, and my amulet has grown hot. "And healing chains have saved many lives that otherwise would have been lost. Including my own, as well as those of many of my soldiers'."

"It's not the chains in themselves. More of what they could lead to. But we were talking of the past, not the future."

"Yes. Tell me of the Runeforger. You've promised this. How did he die, Grand Librarian? And how did he live? And—how did he create the runes?"

"Die? No one knows if he died, Zathar. As always, accounts differ."

My heart misses a beat in shock. Then I shake my head. "The Runeking told me he was slain by his followers. That they became jealous of his great power, and killed him."

"That is one tale. There are others."

"The Runeking seemed very certain."

"It is the most plausible theory, to be sure. Some stories speak of many runeforgers, though. Were they all slain?"

"Many?" I shake my head. "The statue was of one."

"The statue in the city below the magma? I have received reports of it, filtered down from your letters to the Runeking, and his correspondence with my guild. But I would hear it directly. Tell me that tale, Zathar. Then I'll tell you my own ideas about the First Runeforger."

I nearly curse him. Can he not get to the point? I need to know—I need to! Why can he not start his tales from the beginning—from the first runes? But I hold my tongue. I must humor him. I must be patient. That is important above all else.

So, I continue my story, on and on. I tell him of the dragonhunt, then my capture by Vanerak, and then my rise to my current position and our battles with the two sorcerers. And I tell him a little of what happened after that, though my reign thus far has been far from dramatic.

He asks questions, this time. He slows me down when I try to skim, asking for detail, and then for further detail. It is frustrating. Not in all my time as Runethane has someone dared to stop me mid-sentence. Yet I remind myself that I must be patient, if I'm to gain the knowledge I seek.

When I finish, he says this:

"You have given me much to think about. One of the Runegods, at least, still seems to be taking an interest in mortal affairs. And I think, finally, I have some answers about the salamantaurs—though I do not like the name."

"Indeed." I look up at the black shaft above. "Grand Librarian, I really do not mean to show impatience, but my captains are probably beginning to grow worried. I get the sense that a lot of time has passed."

"Ah, very well. That is fair enough. You have dwarves to rule. They aren't so patient as books. As promised, I'll tell you about the Runeforger. But keep this in mind: I can tell you only my thoughts, Zathar, and they are thoughts based on rumors. I have no true facts."

And finally, after so long, after so many tales, we get to what I came down here to understand. I hear of the life of the First Runeforger, according to fragments of stone and mummified tomes, a few etched crystals found in magma, and guesswork.

In the beginning, the dwarves had stone. Masons were valued. Dwarves fought with stones, wore stone plates, worshipped stone. They could work it in strange ways, and may even have had arcane power over it, as hinted in the city below the magma.

And as I suspect from recent events, too.

Stone was nevertheless too weak. The master mason told me this also. Stone broke against the trolls, and the elves, and our other enemies. It served for a while, but gradually us dwarves were brought to the brink of extinction. Only a few cities remained, deep below the stone, near to the magma.

Then came the Runeforger. He turned words into power, using some kind of magic he himself developed. It may have been inspired by that of the salamantaurs. Or maybe he stole one of their orbs and repurposed it—that's what the librarian guesses. He made the runes, and he broke the taboo of destroying stone to get at the metal within.

With his runes, he conquered. At first he needed allies and worked with the salamantaurs—this part is all guesswork, based on what the time-monster told me. Then—and all sources agree on the base facts—he fought against all the other races, and rival dwarves as well, and won many a victory.

"But he grew too powerful, and was slain," says the Grand Librarian. "Or that is what is assumed. But consider this—what if the power of the runes was bound to him, somehow? After all, he was the originator of the magic. When a mage is slain, their spells are undone. You saw this when you slew the time-sorcerer, yes?"

Once again, my heart seems to stop still in my chest.

"Then you believe him to be alive?" I whisper.

"Yes. I do. In some form, at least. All the logic points in that direction. I think he is imprisoned." He shrugs. "Or maybe I am wrong, and Runeking Ulrike is correct. After all, it's possible that the power was instead contained in his sphere, and as long as that persists, the runes do also."

"The sphere I see, then—"

He holds up a hand. "I do not know. I don't care to guess. And I do not know what those shadows were, either."

"That sphere was his prison," I say. "It must be. And it broke open."

"But then why is your power channeled through it? Was his tool transformed into his prison? That seems unlikely, to me. But then again—who knows?"

"No one," I say, frustrated. "No one knows. Nothing is remembered."

"You may have the real answers, buried within you somewhere."

"If so, I cannot dig them out. How long have I been forging for, now? Seventy years? A little less? And I still have no answers."

"They may come, in time."

"I hope so. I have not yet mastered my powers, librarian. And this war is beginning to scare me. Everything is disorganized. A mess! The soldiers are sloppy. Not like Uthrarzak's legions."

"I have studied many wars. No outcome is ever certain."

"Indeed." I grimace. "Perhaps a dragon will burn us all halfway through the decisive battle. That's what happened in the last war I fought in. Or maybe it'll be an army of trolls. We'll all lose, then."

"We will see. Nothing is certain. The past is written, but the future is not. We write it—try to write it well, Runeforger. And make sure to tell me what happens after you're done, will you? And before then, send me your scripts—I haven't forgotten that part of our bargain."

"Of course," I tell him. "You have more than held up your half, honored runeknight."

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